


Say you'll remember me

by Nakeycatstakebaths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hollywood AU, Inspired by TSwift, Mainly wildest dreams but honestly a little 1989 and a little Red, Miscommunication, Wild West AU, fuckbuddies turned soft, movie stars au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakeycatstakebaths/pseuds/Nakeycatstakebaths
Summary: Clarke is coming off three bad movies in a row—and her career can’t handle a fourth. So when her cute summer blockbuster gets recast and turned into a historical romance that’s fit for the Oscars, she’s more than a little freaked out.Throw in a mysteriously handsome co-star whose trailer is only a few feet away from hers—and she’s in for an interesting summer.Relaxed and casual has never really been her thing...but perhaps it’s time for a rebrand?
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 58
Kudos: 251
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Say you'll remember me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burninghoneyatdusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/gifts).



> Inspired by Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift, Lucky Ones by Taylor Swift, and the entire new album she dropped which made my life. 
> 
> Also s/out to Sam (@burninghoneyatdusk) for this prompt, it was insanely fun and well timed considering! It's been awesome to get to know an author I admire, you're a cool cat and an insanely talented writer! Y'all have probably heard of her but if you haven't you should check her out on here and on Tumblr!

Arizona, in the middle of July, was possibly the hottest place on Earth. The heat was visible, floating in the air, landing on her shoulders like an itchy blanket from the back of a friend’s closet. It felt like no life could possibly exist here, like anything that sun touched would immediately burn to a crisp. 

Clarke could already feel the breezy linen of her dress clinging to her back, catching the sweat that was dripping down her neck. 

Nobody warned her about this. She was Canadian, she didn’t do deserts. 

“Isn’t this just incredible,” Russell Lightbourne called from across the lot, cupping his hand over his eyes as he neared closer, a small herd of assistants following closely behind. 

She tried not to let her misery show on her face as she flipped her sunglasses into her hair, giving the director her best enthusiastic smile. 

“It’s really one of a kind,” she said cheerily, reaching forward to give the man a loose hug. 

“I’m very excited to get started on this one,” he grinned, gesturing for her to follow him onto the set. “I’ve been dying to work with you for years. Your performance in A Marriage Tale was so moving.” 

Clarke nodded, grateful that he’d focused on her Oscar nomination and didn’t mention her last two disastrous art films. They’d been a post-breakup mistake and a nightmare to get away from. 

“I’m looking forward to getting back into things, I’ve really missed it,” she agreed, taking a moment to marvel the enormous set. It was beautifully constructed, a perfectly crafted historical town. Each building was designed to look like an old western saloon, framing a full-sized dirt road and a functional horse stable. 

Nothing beats a studio budget. 

Russell walked her through each of the buildings explaining how they fit into the narrative frame of the film and stopping to show her some of the more historically accurate details he’d incorporated. He’d really made a point to be true to the era, the buildings were not equipped with a cooling system of any kind. 

Harper was going to have a field day with trying to keep her foundation from dipping and her mascara from smearing. 

“That’s pretty much it. I’ll have someone give your people a schedule for the week,” he beamed, rounding the tour back at Clarke’s car. 

He gave her two-handed thumbs up, pointing at one of his assistants who handed Clarke a thick stack of paper. 

“I assume you’ve read through the script already; there are some small additions. We had some last minute casting changes,” the woman said, already turning to follow her boss before Clarke could process what she’d just been told. 

***

Casting changes. 

Nobody told her about this. 

It was supposed to be her, Jasper Jordan and Monty Green. A cute, wholesome love story with a little adventure. Jasper and Monty were known for doing movies like these, period pieces with a twist. Usually, a little physical comedy thrown in for good measure. Jasper was wiry, cute but in an accessible way—precisely the kind of love interest she needed after Pirates Along the Bay and it’s cringeworthy sex scenes with her ex. 

“Do you know anything about casting changes?” Clarke asked, pushing into Gaia’s hotel room, already flipping through the new script. 

“I got a call this morning, they said nothing was for sure—” Gaia said, running her hand through her closely cropped hair as she reached for her tablet. 

“The male character is completely different. He’s sexy, more of a rogue cowboy type instead of a sheriff with a heart of gold. This script is for a realistic period piece.” 

Clarke was panicking, this movie was supposed to be light and comfortable, a summer romantic comedy that was sure to be a box office hit. Now it was probably going to get brought up for Oscar contention and well—Clarke had been burned by that more than once. 

“Gaia. How. Did. This. Happen?” she seethed, trying to resist the urge to throw her sunglasses across the room. 

After everything, after all the media drama with Lexa and the absolute failure of her last movie. This was too much, too much pressure, too much everything. 

“There was talk that Jasper and Monty were in negotiation for a Netflix show about their college days, stoner comedy, you know the type of stuff. It was all very hush-hush, but it must’ve gone through,” Gaia said after a long pause, giving Clarke a closed mouth smile. 

“Who’s the lead then?!” Clarke yelped, trying to keep her voice even. 

“Gimme a sec, I’m texting the casting director…” 

“Aren’t managers supposed to know things like this?! How am I just finding out about this now?” 

“You need to sit down and drink some water or something, you’re being a bitch,” Gaia snapped, shooting Clarke a withering glare before she turned back to her phone. 

Clarke sighed, she knew that there was truth in it. She was taking this out on the wrong person. But the idea of her soft introduction back into the mainstream film scene was dissolving right in front of her. These kinds of projects were dangerous. Sure, there was massive potential for success, but there was just as much of a chance for it to take a nosedive and cement her career as a real failure.

Nobody came back from three failed projects in a row, especially not after breaking up one of America’s favorite celebrity couples. This was a risk she couldn’t afford to take, but the opportunity to work with Russell Lightbourne and Prime Studios was too big to pass up. 

Even in her wildest dreams, she couldn’t have thought of a worse situation. 

***

“What do you know about Bellamy Blake?” Clarke asked Harper as she flipped through the latest version of the script. Since the last time they spoke, Russell had sent her three different edits of the story, each more dramatic and thematically complex than the last. 

“I loved him on Iron Throne,” Harper answered, taking a long sip from an already sweating bottle of water. “Very tall, handsome as hell, tan, beautiful…” 

“I know what he looks like, Harp. I meant more as a person. Got any secret make-up artist dirt on him?” 

“Not much. He used to date one of his co-stars, but she’s married to someone else now. He’s kind of mysterious. I heard he got around a lot though, I don’t really blame him. He’s very Greek God with the abs and the tan. Hmmm, there was talk a while ago that he was trying to branch into movies after the show ended—” 

“Well, it looks like he got what he wanted because he’s the new male lead.” 

“Of this movie?” 

“The very same.” 

“So, he’s your love interest?” 

“If the six sex scenes we have together are anything to go by, then yeah,” Clarke shrugged, trying to keep her cheeks from turning red. 

She didn’t need Harper to tell her that Bellamy was hot. She’d spent the better part of last night watching clips of him on YouTube and was more than well acquainted with his exceptionally well-defined abs. 

He was a good actor too, good enough that she was a little less nervous about the path this movie was taking. Still, there was basically no information about him online. 

The man was a real mystery. 

A rare feat in their line of work. 

It was incredibly unsettling, and Clarke was determined to at least find out something about him before they had to film together. 

“I’m not even going to lie, I’m a little jealous.” 

“I thought you were holding out for Monty Green?” 

“I was…but he’s off doing his Netflix show now, and we’ll never be able to accidentally touch the same sandwich at Craft services and fall in love,” Harper sighed, curling up against the arm of her couch. Her tone was tinged with humor, but it was apparent she was disappointed. 

“Never say never, Harp,” Clarke smiled, leaning her head on Harper’s shoulder. 

They sat together in companionable silence, Harper scrolling through Instagram and Clarke reading through the new sections of her script. 

She had to admit, this new plotline was more interesting. 

This new story was based on a real person, Belle Starr. She was badass in all senses of the word and a wild west legend in her own right, a stark contrast from the sweet rancher’s daughter that her character had been initially. Belle stole horses, slung pistols, and rubbed elbows with the likes of Jesse James, all while riding sidesaddle, wearing gold hoop earrings and black velvet gowns. 

She wasn’t a good person, but that was what made her such a compelling protagonist. 

Bellamy was supposed to be her eventual husband, a fellow outlaw, bootlegger, and thief. They were quite the pair, harboring criminals and stealing horses. 

The movie was their love story, the tale of two bandits out in the wild west. It was passionate and dark, tinged with the looming fear that the law would knock them down. 

From the looks of it, it had all the makings of a hit. It was just a matter of pulling it off. 

Man of mystery or not—she was about to become very well acquainted with Bellamy Blake. 

***

“This is your camper,” one of Russell’s assistants explained as she led Clarke across the nature reserve. 

The set was massive, a testament to how deep Prime Studio’s pockets were. Each member of the cast and crew was assigned their own camper, a mini-hotel room that they could also use as a trailer. They were spread out, probably so they wouldn’t damage the desert, clustered in sets of four all around the reserve. 

Clarke’s was chrome, rounded around the edges, and decorated with a trail of string lights and two small, pink lawn chairs. 

“It’s cute,” she smiled, thanking the taller woman before moving to explore her new small space. This would be her home for the next two months, the only place on this entire reserve that was just her own. She hoped one of the trailers beside hers was for Harper, it would be nice to drink wine and talk about their days on her lawn chairs after they filmed. 

The space was small, but she liked it. With a few personal touches, picture frames, her favorite records, it could definitely feel like home. 

She had just started to put her clothes away, folding them neatly into the small shelves when a loud engine roared somewhere nearby. It cut through the otherwise silent desert, shaking Clarke out of the peaceful rhythm she had fallen into with all her organizing. 

The loud whirring continued for a few more seconds before it finally drew to a stop…incredibly close to where she was standing. 

Whoever it was, it seemed like they were neighbors. 

She stepped out just in time to see no other than Bellamy Blake hop off a sleek motorcycle and shake his thick head of curls as he pulled off his helmet. 

“Holy shit,” Harper mouthed from the door of her own camper, eyebrows raised so aggressively that they were about to disappear behind her hairline. 

Clarke pulled her lip between her teeth, her eyes following the flex of Bellamy’s biceps as he adjusted the bike and tucked his helmet away. 

Just when she thought the desert couldn’t get any hotter. 

“You must be Clarke,” he called, flashing her a perfect set of pearly white teeth, framed by a dimple. 

“Uhh—yeah, that’s what they call me,” she fumbled, running her hand over her clothes as she moved to greet him. Suddenly she wished she wasn’t wearing joggers and an old tank top, this wasn’t exactly a fantastic first impression. 

He was just her co-star, there was no reason for her to be nervous, but he was just so—attractive. 

“It’s great to finally meet you. I loved you in Justice League,” he continued, holding out his hand for her to shake. 

“Yeah, you as well. I’m really excited about this one.” 

Their handshake lasted a beat longer than strictly necessary, his palm a rough and warm against hers. 

“If you’re not busy…I’d love to run lines? It might be nice to get a feel for some of the scenes with another person,” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “I have beers and stuff in my trailer, totally casual.” 

She knew it was a simple ask, but her mind immediately drifted to the scene she’d just finished reading—the one where Sam and Belle fuck in a stable. 

“Sounds great, just give me a second to get my script and wash my face. I think I have some chips somewhere too…” she nodded, giving him what she hoped was a casual smile before she turned back to her trailer. 

She was an Oscar-winning actress, had graduated from Yale drama, but right now, she felt like she’d just been asked out by the captain of the football team. 

It was a nice feeling, almost unfamiliar from how long it had been since she’d been excited about someone. Granted, she barely knew Bellamy, and with the way Hollywood types tended to go, he was probably a huge dick, but a little crush never hurt anybody. 

***

“I have a good feeling about this one,” Bellamy grinned, setting his script back down on the table. 

“Do you? I don’t know if I trust my judgment anymore...” Clarke scoffed, taking a long sip from her beer just to have something to do. 

“Unpopular opinion, I liked pirates. The billowy sleeves suited you.” 

“Hilarious. Did you know I once got one of those sleeves caught in an industrial fan? Nearly ripped my arm off. It’s why I switched to short sleeves halfway through the movie.” 

“It was such a smooth transition I barely noticed,” he smirked, tipping his bottle toward her. 

Clarke tossed a chip at him, narrowly missing his head. The man, the myth, the mystery, turned out to be a lot more fun than she’d been expecting. 

“Continuity was not a strong point,” she conceded, laughing along with him. It was true. Pirates had objectively sucked. It was low budget and horribly managed, generally a misfire on all accounts. 

“Yeah, I liked how Lexa’s hair randomly changed lengths like three times. Me and Miller turned it into a drinking game.” 

Before she could stop it, Clarke winced. Shockingly, she’d made it this far without anyone bringing up Lexa, and the last person she wanted to talk about it with was Bellamy. 

“Oh shit—look, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bring it up...” he began, eyes widening as he realized what he’d done. In his defense, he looked genuinely sorry about it. 

“It’s okay. It’s been a year and a half.” 

“Breakups are hard, especially when you work together. I get that you don’t want to dredge it back up.” 

“It was never meant to be. She wanted to leave the business, explore greener pastures. I’m not quite ready to let it all go. Even if I was, my last movie was never going to be Pirates,” Clarke admitted, unsure as to why she was divulging so much information, but Bellamy was surprisingly easy to talk to. 

“I get that, and I respect the hell out of it. You know what you want, and you go after it,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. 

Clarke didn’t know what to make of Bellamy Blake, he was nothing like she expected. 

This was going to be a very interesting couple of months. 

***

“Clarke! I need you to get off the horse, spin the pistol around your finger and then get in Bellamy’s face. I know it’s a lot, but you need to be quicker,” Russell called from his director’s chair, waving his finger to indicate that the crew needed to reset the shot. 

Clarke wiped the beads of sweat collecting around her brow, the sun was high in the sky, an ever-present reminder of how many times they’d repeated this scene. She couldn’t dismount the horse fast enough, it either took her two beats too long, or she slipped on the way down. 

Bellamy was extremely patient, but she could tell he was getting agitated too. His costume involved several layers of jackets, each made from a durable muslin. If she was hot, he was probably on the verge of melting. 

She tried one last time, swinging off the horse and crowding Bellamy against the wall. 

“You wanna say that again, bud?” she spat out, running the tip of her fake pistol down his jawline. 

He swallowed thickly, eyes flicking across her face, dark, heated. 

“If you wanna play with the big boys sweetheart, you’re going to have to get used to a little saloon talk...” he murmured, tilting his chin with the stroke of her gun, almost like he was enjoying the tease of it all. 

Objectively, Clarke knew they were acting, but she couldn’t help the lick of heat that pulsed through her body. Bellamy was incredibly sexy, especially dressed up like a cowboy, and he was a hell of an actor. 

Right now, they’d weren’t Bellamy and Clarke, they were Belle and Sam. But she wished he were looking at her like that, that she could run her lips up the path of her gun. 

Maybe she could. 

A little improv never hurt anybody. 

Instead of delivering her next line, she took a step closer, her finger trailed down the center of his chest, teasing the collar of his shirt. 

His eyes darkened, lip coming to rest between his teeth as he looked down at her. 

“You’re awfully pretty, did ya know that?” He said, shifting the dialogue away from the original scene. 

“I’ve been told as much,” she smirked, leaning in so close that their lips almost touched—before she pulled away again. 

Reholstering her gun, she swung back up on her horse, nudging it, so they galloped a few steps away. 

“CUT!” Russell yelled, smacking his hand against the side of the director’s chair. “Fuck, I knew this was a good idea. The two of you...I can feel the sex in the air, and you haven’t even kissed. Fantastic. Let’s skip to the bar fight.” 

With a wave of his hand, Russel hopped out of his chair and breezed away, leaving everyone else to scramble for the next scene. 

“Nice work, princess,” Bellamy whispered, winking at her over his shoulder as he was pulled back to wardrobe. 

She needed a cold shower—and not because of the 100-degree weather. 

“That was insanely hot. I hope you know that,” Harper said, dabbing Clarke’s smearing foundation with a wet sponge. 

“Trust me...I’m well aware.” 

“Do I sense a little on-set romance?” 

“I cannot do that again,” she said adamantly, trying to suppress the cringe from the memories of having to film scenes with Lexa after things went south. 

“Okay, but like, you don’t have to date him. I’m just saying you could maybe—let off some steam,” Harper shrugged, adding another layer of setting spray over the make-up. 

Clarke had never been one for casual relationships, her one night stands almost always managed to turn into full-fledged commitment very quickly. It never served her particularly well. Maybe Harper had a point. She’d been single for nearly two years now, it was about time she got back in the saddle. Metaphorically that is. Her actual horseback riding skills could use some work. 

***

Harper was already a little drunk by the time Clarke arrived, her eyes out of focus as she swung an arm around her shoulders.

“Can I tell you a secret...” she whispered, breath sweet from the Moscato she was drinking. “I DM’d Monty Green on Instagram a few days ago.” 

Clarke snorted, Harper had been crushing on Monty for approximately five years. They’d worked on a few movies together, never actually talked but were always catching each other’s gaze from across the room. 

To say Harper was smitten was an understatement. 

“We’ve been texting ever since,” she continued, downing the last of her wine glass. 

“I told you things would work out,” Clarke smiled, hugging her friend tightly. If there was one person who deserved to be happy, it was Harper. 

“He wants me to FaceTime with him. He’s in Australia filming his new show, but he got up extra early so we could talk!” 

“What are you still doing at this party? Your man is waiting for you.” 

“I didn’t wait to ditch you—“ 

Clarke unwrapped herself from Harper, nudging her gently toward their trailers. 

“I’ll be fine. Go have fun...” 

Harper giggled, staring down at her phone as she waved, speed walking back to their little cluster of trailers. 

Well, at least one of them was getting laid—even if it was virtually. 

Now alone, Clarke mulled through the crowd, holding on to her beer like a lifeline. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she went to a party without Harper or a significant other to hang out with. It was oddly lonely, even in the crowd, there was no one to drift to and no one to hide behind. 

Sure, people came up to talk to her, but they weren’t really talking to her. It was the standard chit chat about Justice League and A Marriage Tale, with careful avoidance of her past relationship. 

She was just about to go home, put on her PJs, and run lines for the next day when a hand brushed her lower back. 

“You look like you’re having a great time,” Bellamy teased, tilting his glass to clink against her bottle. 

His hair was wet, drops of water peppering the shoulders of his worn olive green t-shirt. Even like this, he was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. It was almost unfair that he could roll out of the shower and look—like that. 

“Long day,” she replied, following him away from the crowd, toward the dusty red cliffs. 

He nodded, sitting in the dirt, gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the desert. 

“You were great out there,” he said, scooting over just enough that she could sit beside him on the overlook. 

It was a tight fit, their legs pressed together, the clean scent of his soap and the warm press of his skin overwhelming her. 

“So were you. That was some excellent improv.” 

“It means a lot to hear that. Coming off TV, it’s hard to know what’s acceptable sometimes.” 

“You’re very talented, seriously. I know it’s only been a day, but I’m excited about this one,” she said, reaching out to pat his leg reassuringly. Well, she intended it to be reassuring, but her hand landed a little higher up than she’d been aiming for. 

Bellamy placed his hand over hers, his palm rough and warm against the back of her hand. 

He didn’t say anything, just smiled at her, rubbing his thumb gently over her knuckles before turning his attention back to the landscape. 

The desert was beautiful, the stars bright enough to cast a light over everything illuminating the cacti, the jagged rocks, the river that sat just below the edge. It looked barren, but the life underneath it all was palatable, pulsing through the ground. 

They sat like that for what felt like hours, in complete silence, the noise of the party a distant reminder that they weren’t alone.

“I have a bottle of tequila in my trailer...” She said, her voice sounding loud even to her own ears, cutting through the murmurs. Harper’s words from earlier were still sitting in the back of her brain. 

Bellamy was nice and hot and easy to be around, he seemed like the perfect choice for having a little fun. 

“That sounds like a great time,” he grinned, easing himself up off the ledge before helping her back to her feet. 

Their hands stayed clasped together as they snuck past the party and back to her trailer. 

Thankfully, she’d had the presence of mind to clean up before the party. No bras or loose script pages lying around. 

“Do you drink it straight, or do you want some lemonade or something?” She asked, shuffling around in the kitchen, mainly so she could keep her focus off of how small the space looked with Bellamy in it. 

With the brighter lights, she could see his freckles, the loose curls brushing the bottom of his neck. It’s been a long time since someone made her nervous, but Bellamy most definitely made her nervous. In a good way, the butterflies, blush down your neck, can’t control your laughter kind of nervous. 

“I’d like to say I drink it straight, but the lemonade is probably best. We have to shoot tomorrow after all...” he said, leaning back on her narrow futon. 

“Ahh, yes, have you ever filmed hungover? Absolute hell.” 

“I filmed a fight scene for Iron Throne hungover. Threw up between takes, genuinely considered letting someone stab me for real at one point,” Bellamy chuckled, taking the glass from her and wincing when he tasted how strong she’d made it. In all her nerves, she may have been a little more heavy-handed with the pour than she would’ve otherwise. 

They drank in silence, the quiet hum of Clarke’s old record player playing soft indie music. The futon could barely hold them both, a tight fit in the small space. 

Clarke wondered what he was thinking, what he wanted her to do. There were so many unknowns with a new person, especially someone as mysterious as Bellamy. 

“How did you get into acting?” She asked, regretting the words the second they left her mouth. This was precisely what she wasn’t supposed to be doing. She was supposed to be fun and flirty and casual—so far, she was failing miserably. 

But Bellamy didn’t seem to mind, he just leaned back, taking a drink from his glass as he mulled over her question. 

“When I was in sixth grade, my math teacher cornered me after school and made me play Link in the school’s production of Hairspray. They were in desperate need of boys,” he laughed, a genuine, deep belly laugh. “But I ended up really liking it. I branched out into plays and majored in theatre.” 

Clarke laughed with him, the idea of a middle school teacher begging every boy they saw to sing was too good of a visual not to. 

She loved hearing about the ways people got into acting. It really said something about people, who they were, the kinds of movies they wanted to do. Sure, it wasn’t fun and flirty, but it was a great way to get to know someone. 

“What about you?” 

“I started pre-med at Yale, cried through every single day of intro chemistry. On a whim, I took a theatre class in my second semester, and the rest is history. My parents were not happy...but they’ve come around to it.” 

They laughed again, and Bellamy shifted, so his arm was around her shoulders. It was a better fit this way, less cramped.

For all the last minute casting changes, they definitely had good chemistry. 

“You were really something out there today,” he said, voice dropping as he turned to meet her gaze. 

Maybe he was thinking about it too, the heat between them, the tension when she dragged her finger down his collarbone. 

As if on cue, his eyes dropped to her hands, like he was daring her to do it again. This time as Bellamy and Clarke instead of as Belle and Sam. 

Slowly, still a little unsure, she reached out, running her finger down the edge of his jaw. His skin was soft, peppered with a light stubble, warm under her touch. 

She ran the pad of her thumb over his lower lip before continuing her path, pausing just at the collar of his shirt. 

The tiny trailer suddenly felt even smaller, like all the oxygen had escaped out of the room. It was a delicate moment, just on the verge of something crazy. 

If they did this, there was no going back. 

And then—-

He kissed her. 

There was heat behind it, intention, a full days worth of pent up sexual energy funneled into this one moment. 

Bellamy kissed with his whole body, hands digging into her hips, pulling her into his lap. His lips soft, the perfect amount of both gentle and firm. 

It was good—overwhelmingly good. 

Clarke didn’t want to seem too eager, trying to keep her hips from bucking against his as she settled into his lap. 

She’d always been the kind of person to take it slow, to take her time. But her body wasn’t cooperating in this case. Every inch of her body wanted him, wanted to be closer. 

His hands slid from her hips to her ass, pulling her flush against him. 

“Fuckkkkkk,” she moaned, giving in to the urge to grind down, hands flying up to grip his shoulders. 

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” he groaned, teeth grazing her earlobe. 

There was no way she was going to be able to take it slow. Honestly, it wasn’t worth even bothering. Instead, she bucked her hips against his with abandon, moaning loudly when he mouthed at her neck. 

“How are you even real?” She asked, the tequila leaving her a tad more honest than she would have been otherwise as she pulled his shirt over his head. 

He was perfectly toned, smooth planes of tight muscle. It was ridiculous, he was so hot that she might die from this. 

Shit. 

She’d said that last part out loud, and now Bellamy looked like he was holding back a laugh. 

He chuckled, running his palms up and down her thighs as he watched her, eyes roving up and down her body. 

“I definitely think I’m the lucky one...” 

Before Clarke could respond, he flipped them over, pressing her into the soft cushions of the couch. She could barely think straight with the way he was kissing her, sweet, gentle pecks followed by wet hot kisses. He marked a path down her neck, tasting her skin, one hand tracing circles on her side, and the other holding onto her like she was the only thing that mattered. 

The hem of her sundress was hiked up, bunched around her thighs. 

He pulled her dress off in one motion, easing it over her head, leaving her totally exposed on the couch. 

Objectively, Clarke knew she was attractive, knew there were thousands of gifs floating around the sex scenes she’d filmed in her movies. Hell, there were magazine spreads of her draped in a sheet lying on chaise lounges. But she still felt the urge to cover herself with her hands, the weight of Bellamy’s stare overwhelming her. 

He just shook his head, lacing their fingers together as he kissed up her thighs. 

“Is this okay?” He asked, easing her leg up onto his shoulder, lips inches away from where she wanted him most. 

She was trying to keep her calm, but all she could do was nod. It was all happening so fast, and yet, she didn’t want him to stop. 

***

“We’re going to be so late...” Bellamy murmured against her lips, hips driving into her as he pressed her up against the door of his trailer.

“We still have 5 mins...” she giggled, carding a hand through his curls. She was so close, just of the edge of bliss. “Plus, we can always tell them we were rehearsing...technically, it wouldn’t even be a lie.” 

They had another sex scene to film today, their third one. Russell was thrilled by how well they were taking to it, and considering how they were carrying on off-camera, things were going better than anyone could’ve hoped. 

This part was supposed to be a secret, technically, nobody except for Harper and Bellamys manager Miller, knew about it. The backstage kisses, falling asleep in each other’s arms, slowly pulling one another apart, it was theirs and nobody else’s. 

It’d been about a month since they started filming, squeezing scenes in between painful waves of desert heat. The longer they spent out here, the harder it became to remember what the real world was like. This set was an alternate reality, far away from the press and all their responsibilities. 

That’s what made this so hard—Clarke kept losing sight of the temporariness of it all. Sometimes, late at night, she found herself wishing that this could last forever, that she would never have to leave the warmth of Bellamy’s embrace. 

She still didn’t really know what to make of him. He was quiet, kind of intense, full of intellectual thoughts on books and theories about the origins of the universe. He never shared much about himself, save for a few tidbits about his sister or his mom, a funny story about Miller. 

They were similar in that way—guarded. And for some reason, that made Clarke want to unwrap herself in front of him, show him all her scars, and hope that he still wanted to stroke her hair while she fell asleep. 

There were times that she did—laid out on a blanket on a chilly desert night, curled into Bellamy’s side. She let small things slip, like pebbles into a dark lake, things about her parents, Wells, even things about Lexa. It was never clear how much he really gathered from it, but he always listened, shared his own experiences in turn. 

All this was supposed to be casual, but undoubtedly, Clarke was falling for him, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

She kissed him as she came—hard, grabbing the ends of his hair, head thudding back, hitting the door with a soft thud. 

“Bellamy,” she moaned, stroking her palms down the nape of his neck, taking him in as he rode his own orgasm. 

He kissed the tip of her nose gently as he came down, peppering her cheeks and forehead with kisses so soft she could barely feel them. 

For a quickie against the door, it felt strangely intimate. Clarke wanted to bask in it, to trace his freckles with the tip of her finger and fall asleep to the feel of his cheek pillowed on the crown of her head. 

But they had a scene to shoot, and if they waited any longer, someone would come looking for them. 

The emptiness was staggering as she stepped away from him, readjusting her dress. His hands had only left her seconds ago, but she already wanted them back. 

“How bad is it?” He asked, pulling her out of her thoughts as he tried to smooth down his hair. 

“Do you want the truth, or do you want me to make you feel better?” she teased, reaching out to tuck a curl back into place. 

Together, they managed to straighten themselves and make it back to the set before anyone noticed they were missing. It didn’t seem like anyone even registered. They were gone, but the entire time they were filming the scene, all she could focus on was a bruise just under the collar of Bellamy’s jacket and the knowledge that she was the one who put it there. 

***

They were sitting in a kiddie pool, submerged in less than five inches of water, trying somehow to ease the burn of the desert heat. 

Bellamy’s skin had bronzed over the past few weeks, his freckles multiplying from the intensity of the sun. It suited him, enhanced the roguish cowboy look they were going for with the movie. Clarke, on the other hand, was burned to a crisp across her shoulders and cheeks, her skin far too delicate for the climate. 

It was why she was shrouded under a large umbrella, face slathered in the highest SPF that Harper could find, while Bellamy basked in the sun. 

To say she was jealous was an understatement. 

She wondered absently if they had kids...would they have his beautiful splatter of freckles and dark curls, would they inherit the same blue eyes she shared with her father. But she caught herself. 

This was exactly her problem.

Her emotions didn’t know how to step on the breaks—this was supposed to be casual. 

But distancing herself from him—was easier said than done. 

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Bellamy grinned, grazing the arch of her foot with his thumb. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just anxious,” she sighed. It was half of the truth, at least. 

He didn’t say anything, just kept tracing circles into her skin, humming an old Johnny Cash song under his breath. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

The thing was, she did. 

But this was a minefield, there was a careful line between telling him how she felt and sharing a part of herself with him. 

Words escaped her, so instead, she shifted, the water sifting around them until she settled beside him. 

He tucked her under his arm, wet hair brushing her forehead as he held her. 

“We can go nap under my weighted blanket?” He offered, so sincere it broke her heart a little. 

“That sounds great,” she agreed, once again forcing herself to push her feelings down somewhere she couldn’t see them.

***

Russell clapped loudly, so aggressively that it echoed throughout the soundstage. 

“No, no, no. Clarke, you need to hold him, cup his jaw. This man just asked you to marry him, to run away from this life and make a life together...this needs more feeling. You look constipated.” 

He was pissed. 

They’d run this scene over a dozen times, and it just wasn’t right. 

This was an expensive shot, the horses costing an arm and leg just so they could stand in the background for dramatic effect. 

There was no rhyme or reason that it wasn’t working. Frankly, it should be working. But the logistics were awkward, the dialogue coming across weird, every shot had an odd angle or a strange facial expression. 

“You two are fucking like rabbits off-screen, and you can’t manage to get a fake sex scene right. Unbelievable,” Russell yelled, throwing a script so hard it sent pages flying in all directions. 

Clarke blanched, her blood running cold. Below her, Bellamy’s jaw tensed, his expression darkening in a way she didn’t recognize. 

Their little bubble of quiet, stolen moments and secret kisses was effectively shattered—maybe it had never existed at all, but things would never be the same now. 

“I think we’re going to call it. Take the rest of the day off,” one of the production assistants said, handing them both robes. 

They separated silently, eyes not meeting while the set around them cleared out. There was tension in the air, thick, silent awkwardness. 

Without a word, Bellamy shrugged on his robe and left, not even a backward glance. 

Clarke wanted to cry. 

This was precisely what she’d been trying to avoid, on-set drama, the painful avoidance. 

Despite her best efforts, her feelings were hurt. 

They’d gotten sloppy, hadn’t covered their tracks as well as they had at the beginning. 

“Are you okay?” Harper asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“I can’t believe I did this again...” she sighed, holding her face in her hands. She knew it couldn’t last forever, but she never expected it to go down like this. “I’m just so embarrassed.”

“Russell is super temperamental. It’s not a huge deal,” Harper assures, wrapping an arm around Clarke and guiding her back to her trailer. “I will say...Bellamy was kind of a dick just now...” 

Clarke shrugged, eying his trailer as they rounded the corner to hers. She wanted to talk to him—maybe yell at him. He was just as much a part of this as she was, he didn’t get to act pissed about them getting caught. 

Maybe he wasn’t as invested as she was, maybe this was an added complication he didn’t want to deal with. 

Well, if that was how he was going to act—so be it. She didn’t need him, she had a perfectly fine vibrator. 

***

Turns out, her vibrator wasn’t nearly as good as the real thing. 

She’d gotten a little spoiled by all the action, but things with Bellamy didn’t seem to be improving. The situation with Russell had tinged things, left Bellamy distant, and Clarke bitter. 

There was a tingle under her skin, though, an itch she couldn’t reach on her own. Despite everything, even though he was being a huge asshole, she missed him. 

The chemistry was still there, it came to a head every time they filmed a sex scene. They never had another catastrophic scene. Instead, things were heated, heavy. Sometimes Clarke lost herself in it, slipped a bit from her character, and found herself enjoying it a touch more than she was supposed to. 

She would feel guilty, but Bellamy was doing the same. He improvised past the script, running his teeth across her collarbone, palming her ass as his sock-clad dick thrust into her leg. It was like high school, edging on the line of sex without ever crossing it. 

Both satisfying and frustrating at the same time. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Russell yelled, pumping his fist in the air. “Can you two rehearse it with the script changes? We’re going to try to get the final cut after lunch.” 

The crew and the remainder of the cast dispersed quickly at the mention of lunch. The stable where they were filming was suffocatingly hot, filled with the scent of sun-warmed wood. 

They sat in silence long after the last person was gone, technically still naked. 

“Should we run the scene?” She asked, pulling a script from under the pillow so she could scan it. 

Bellamy nodded, reading his own script to memorize the changes. They were simple enough, a few small dialogue additions, some stage direction. 

With a nod, she returned the script to its place and laid back down on the hay-filled mattress. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Bellamy whispered, tucking a strand of loose blonde hair behind her ear. His voice had that light country accent, the one that signaled he was Sam, it was deeper, huskier, and without fail, it always left a pool of heat in the bottom of her belly. 

“Make love to me, Samuel. Make me yours,“ she murmured, face slipping into a soft smile, reaching up to cup his jaw. 

With that, they started to kiss, rolling so that Clarke was on top. She was already shirtless, nipples shielded by thin plastic petals, barely covering what they were supposed to. 

This was the first time she’d really seen Bellamy in over a week. No cameras, no assistants watching them and dabbing sweat from their brows, just skin on skin and the weighted tension in the way their eyes met.

“You’ve always been mine. Forever my baby girl,” he finished, delivering the last line inches from her lips. 

They hovered—a breath apart, holding onto the moment. 

The kiss was soft, just like in the script, Bellamy’s hands roving her back. He made his way down the length of her spine, before settling on her hips.

He was supposed to pull her forward, settling her over his hips, close enough that it looked like the real thing but not enough so that the actor’s guild would come after them. 

Neither of them moved, though. 

Their eyes stayed locked, Clarke could feel the hard press of Bellamy against her ass. She didn’t want to move, she wanted him, wanted to go back to the way they were before they got caught. 

They kissed again, and Clarke could feel the shift, the adjustment from their characters back to themselves. She reveled in it, grinding down shamelessly, moaning when he bucked up to meet her hips. 

She wanted him so badly, could tell he felt the same from the desperate way his fingers were digging into her hips. 

“It’s too risky...” she sighed, mustering all her willpower to pull away. 

“This in general or this right now...” he asked, rolling them back over so they were lying side by side. 

Clarke mulled over it, he was putting the ball in her court. Did she want to open this up again? Would she be able to manage her distance better this time? 

Truthfully, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to, she’d already fallen for Bellamy. But she couldn’t let this go. 

Maybe she should let it run its course, things would come to a natural end with the movie. For now, she might as well have fun. 

“Right now,” she said, keeping her eyes glued to the ceiling. 

***

They carried on in secret for a while, far more careful than they’d been the first time. It was a rush, sneaking into each other’s trailers, stealing kisses under cover of darkness. 

That week where they didn’t speak never came up again, blew away in the desert wind. 

“Do you ever look up at the sky and feel impossibly small?” Bellamy asked, rolling on his side to face her, the stars illuminating his face just enough that she could make out the dimple on his chin. 

“There’s a lot of things that make me feel small,” she shrugged, thinking back to all those reviews about her movies, about the weeks where she hid under her covers and ate nothing but stale animal crackers. “That’s the thing about this job. The highest highs and the lowest lows.” 

They were silent for a while, the sound of their breathing filling the space between them. 

Slowly but surely, they’d slipped back into the comfort of this, back to sharing small things about themselves. It was different now, more guarded, but there were so few people that truly understood, it was hard not to share. 

“I almost got fired from Iron Throne. My ex, Echo, she broke up with me for the director. She never made a big deal out of it...but after they got married, Roan had it out for me,” Bellamy said quietly. “A lot of people on the show held me and Echo responsible for why the last season was so bad. Roan was a lunatic, she and I could never get through love scenes together. It was horrible, I thought my career was over...” 

There it was. The reason Bellamy had reacted so poorly to Russell’s outburst. It didn’t necessarily excuse the way he acted, but it definitely explained it. 

“This movie is a huge opportunity for me—and I can’t mess it up by falling into another public romance. I can’t deal with abuse from a director like that again.” 

Despite how much she didn’t want to hear it, Clarke understood. She’d done the same thing, gotten caught up in the excitement of dating another actor, the publicity, the fans, and in the process, she lost sight of herself. 

“I followed Lexa onto a lot of bad projects, I tied my name with hers in the industry after a million people told me not to. I paid the price with pirates,” she said, reaching out to take his hand in both of hers. “I get it.” 

They didn’t need to say it, but this was a silent agreement. Whatever they were doing here was casual, nobody could ever find out, and once this wrapped, it was over. 

She’d known it all along, but somehow, it hurt more knowing it for sure. 

Neither of them could afford the PR hit of a breakup—there was too much riding on this movie. 

They laid side by side, the cold desert breeze blowing over their faces, and Clarke wondered about what it would’ve been like if they were normal. 

What if she had been an art teacher or a pediatrician and run into him while picking up her morning coffee. Would they have ever met if she hadn’t left her tiny town on Prince Edward Island? 

That was the thing about fame, about acting, it opened up the world in ways you could never imagine...but it also robbed you of life’s smaller moments. For every SAG awards and MET gala, there were hoards of people chasing you at the grocery store, people zooming in close on your pictures to speculate breakups. Sometimes, more than anything else, Clarke longed for anonymity. She loved acting more than anything else in the world. But she wanted to be able to live her life again, to hold Bellamy’s hand and go to Trader Joe’s and buy weird flavors of ice cream to eat on the drive home. 

Being with Bellamy, sharing these small moments, it was the first time in a long time that she felt like herself. When they were together, lying in kiddie pools and tossing popcorn at each other, she was just Clarke. With Lexa, things were passionate, wild, and exciting, but that was part of why they’d crashed and burned...they never wanted the same things, they never could’ve lived a real life together. But this was different, even though they were sneaking around...he understood her, apparently more than she’d realized initially. Bellamy was the kind of person she could settle down with, someone she would buy a beach house in Maine with and live together as lobster fishing hermits. 

Right person, wrong time, the age-old woe. 

This movie was exceptional, the only other project she’d worked on that felt like this was A Marriage Tale. It was bound for big things, it was a physical manifestation of her desire for a fulfilling career and the calling of a more normal life. If she didn’t need this so badly, if this movie wasn’t destined for something massive, she might’ve tried to fight it. 

But she was tired, and she desperately needed a break. For now, Clarke was just going to enjoy things while they lasted. 

***

Clarke watched as Bellamy delivered one of his final lines. They were shooting out of order, but they were nearing the end of the film. She wished they could hold onto this magical set forever, the trailers in the middle of the desert, the dusty stables, and the horses that never seemed to want to cooperate with her. 

She’d grown to love Belle, to find comfort in the gunslinging and the golden hoop earring and the velvet skits that kicked up dirt while she walked. 

Belle was interesting and complex, an odd mix of hard and soft. She’d done a lot of terrible things, but she stood by the man that she loved. This love story was one that needed to be told, the tale of a rough-riding woman and the strong, stoic man who stood behind her—a mixed-race, multifaceted, grey couple. 

Bellamy, as Sam was captivating, the way he slung his pistol from the corner of his belt, deep, relaxed voice reverberating off the barn walls. 

“Annnnd cut!!” Russell called, standing up to give directions. 

The last scene—the one that came next, it would probably be the last thing they shot. 

Samuel’s death, the bullet that landed a little too close to his heart. 

She’d been bracing herself for it this entire time, but as it rested closer, the thought of wrapping this all up left a pit in her stomach. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Bellamy murmured, his hand brushing the small of her back as he dipped behind her. 

The set broke into chaos before she could question him further, the PAs all shuffling around hay bales as Russell called out commands for the next set. 

In all the craziness, she forgot his promise, caught up in the logistics of horseback riding. 

She was still terrible at it—falling off more than a few times, and it took her a frustrating amount of tries to get it to go her way. 

By the time she wrapped, she was dusty and sore and more than ready for a shower. 

When she returned to her trailer, Bellamy was sitting outside, reading an old copy of Vogue from her tiny pink lawn chair. 

“Happy early birthday,” he grinned, pulling a small noisemaker from his pocket and blowing into it. 

Between the day she’d had and the thought of the movie winding down soon, this simple gesture of excitement toward her birthday was enough to leave her on the verge of tears. 

Without hesitation, she ran to him, hugging him tightly. It was exactly what she needed right now. 

He just held her, lips pressed to the crown of her hair, rocking her gently from side to side. 

“Thank you.” 

“This isn’t even the surprise!” He laughed, keeping one arm around her shoulders as he led her into the trailer. 

Inside was a spread that spanned the entirety of her tiny kitchen table. Burgers and fries and milkshakes and a fat slice of chocolate cake. Considering they were in the middle of nowhere, she had no idea where he got all this food from, it most definitely wasn’t from Kraft services. 

“Bellamy—“ she gasped, wrapping him in another tight hug. 

Truth be told, she hadn’t celebrated her birthday in years. Sure, she and Harper and Gaia sometimes went out to the bars or to dinner, but they always got hounded by people. 

This was simple and private and absolutely perfect. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Harper and Miller over. This seems like a lot of food for just the two of us,” he added, holding up a fry for her to eat. 

“This is...exactly what I wanted. Thank you,” she repeated, hugging him again as she chewed on her fry. 

They settled into one side of her narrow dining table, sides pressed tightly together. Eventually, they were joined by Harper and Miller, and they ate burgers and drank tequila and lemonade. It was staggeringly ordinary, four friends celebrating together, making jokes, playing cards. 

It was probably one of Clarke’s favorite birthdays since she was a little kid. This was the normalcy she’d been craving, a simple night in. All she’d ever wanted was a quiet dinner, shitty food from a drive-through, and the space to be herself. 

The weight of the gesture, brought her back to the fantasies of an ivory house in Maine, with wide balconies and a view of an ocean. The life she’d always run away from, but that suddenly seemed like the most appealing thing in the world. 

She was falling in love with Bellamy, casual or not, there was nothing she could do about it. 

He would never know, they’d promised after all that this would be a clean break. No feelings and no complications. The house is Maine was a fantasy—nothing more, one that he would never even know about. 

But she couldn’t help it when she pushed him back on the bed, kissing him softly, gently, really taking her time. This was different than quick moments stolen between scenes and kisses in the dark, it was more meaningful. 

He thrust into her slowly, pinning her hands above her head, eyes boring into hers. 

It was heady and confusing, and Clarke never wanted it to stop, she wanted tonight, this moment, to last forever. 

***

Harper was brushing a layer of shimmer across Clarke’s shoulders. This was it—her and Bellamy’s final scene. It was beautifully written, tender, and sad, and the perfect note to end this movie. 

Wardrobe picked out a long flowing dress, it pooled around her ankles, the thin, airy material catching in the evening breeze. It was stunning, designer, one of a kind. The bodice was carefully fitted, hugging her ribs, the white fabric contrasting with her sun-kissed skin. 

“I feel like you’re getting married,” Harper teased, twirling one of Clarke’s curls around her finger. 

“Well, I definitely look the part,” she agreed, turning to the side to examine her elaborate costume. 

Her heart was thudding in her chest, their last scene, the final time she and Bellamy would be on screen together. Oddly enough, tonight was probably their last night with each other. It wasn’t really a breakup—they never really dated, but it hurt all the same. 

She wanted to stretch the day for as long as possible, linger in every moment, really remember it. But the schedule wasn’t in her favor. They were supposed to film this scene at sunset, the light fading out as Sam took his final breaths. 

They only had a handful of takes to get this right, not nearly enough time in the grand scheme of things. 

“You ready for this?” Bellamy whispered, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. 

She leaned into it, closing her eyes, memorizing the feel of his arms, the safety of the embrace. 

“No, but we can’t exactly put off the inevitable,” she sighed, coding her feelings in a statement that could easily be taken to be about their characters. 

It wasn’t clear whether he knew, whether he understood the gravity of her feelings for him. 

He didn’t respond, just kissed the side of her head, his lips lingering on her temple for almost a minute.

Gently, she eased out of his embrace, holding her hand out for him to take. 

One last time, the two of them. The last time Belle and Sam would breathe together in this film, the final time they would bring these characters to life. 

It was a beautiful love story, passionate and loving and understanding. Even if it ended in death, there was so much life packed into their love. 

As Clarke stood on the edge of a cliff, her skirt blowing in the breeze, her second least favorite horse behind her...she really felt the spirit of what they were doing. The sun was a hazy orange and yellow around her, dusting her white dress in soft pinks. 

She ran with the horses until fake gun sounded, a pellet hitting Bellamy in the chest, a blossom of blood-forming in its place, forcing her to turn toward him. 

With a flourish, she drew her own weapon and fired a single shot, knocking their opponent to the ground, barely giving him a second glance as he collapsed. 

Clarke fell to her knees in front of Bellamy, tears already forming in the corner of her eyes. She brushed his bangs off his forehead, drew him to her chest as a single sob slipped from her lips.

She could feel his breathing as she held him, his supposed lifeless body. At this moment, she really was Belle, mourning the love of her life, dangerously angry at the men who’d ripped him away from her. Scared and truly alone in the world—nowhere to go except back into the desert. 

Easing Bellamy’s eyelids shut, she pressed a kiss to each of them, finishing with a gentle kiss to his lips. 

She laid him back into the desert sand, tucking her gun in his holster. 

The final shot was of her, broken, lost, and steadfastly determined, staring off into the sunset. Her hair caught the breeze just so, her gold hoop earrings glinting in the sun. 

She was so caught in the moment, she jumped when the entire crew burst into applause. 

“That was it. That’s our shot. We’ve got ourselves a movie,” Russell yelled, pushing his fist into the air. 

And just like that—it was over. 

***

The closing party was wild, full of rowdy singing and more overflowing bottles of champagne that she could count. There was dancing and sparklers and overwhelming joy at the beautiful movie they’d made together. 

There was something in the air, the knowledge that they’d done something special in the middle of this desert. It was a hit—they could all feel it. 

Clarke danced in circles with Harper, popping sickly sweet cherries soaked in whiskey in her mouth. It was euphoric and so overwhelmingly joyful. 

Finally, after what felt like hours, she crossed paths with Bellamy, her arms flying around his neck when they collided on the dance floor. 

It was one night, their final night of filming, she didn’t have it in her to be self-conscious. 

“You smell like cherries,” he said, lifting her off the ground and twirling her. 

Cheekily, she popped another cherry between her lips, holding it out just enough that he could take it. 

And he did. 

He kissed her afterward, the sugar from the cherry and sting of the whiskey lacing with it. 

She held him close, deepening the kiss, the whiskey left her warm, and the kiss made her head feel fuzzy. 

They danced together, to the gentle sway of a Sam Smith song, bringing the whole party to something slower. 

No words were exchanged, but it felt like a goodbye. 

Clarke cupped his jaw, memorizing every ridge of his face. She didn’t know what to make all of this, it was joyful and painful and confusing, and it was slipping away more quickly than she could handle. 

“Come on,” he whispered, pulling her toward his trailer, away from the crowds.

She didn’t mind, the only person she wanted to see right now was him. 

Bellamy’s Christmas lights were still hung across the edges of his ceiling. But his clothes were already neatly folded into a half-open suitcase. They’d spent so many nights here, talking, laughing, tossing a ping pong ball against the wall, it was sad to see it look so empty. 

Clarke eased off her shoes, sprawling back on the bed, waiting for him to follow. 

They undressed each other slowly, taking their time. Clarke could feel her heartbreaking as they moved together, as Bellamy rubbed his thumb over her lip. There would never be enough for time for her to get real closure from this, all she could do was try to absorb as much of it as possible. 

She loved him; it was undeniable. 

He lived only in the realm of this movie for her, an abstract idea—the one person who made her long for a life away from the big screen. 

Perhaps it was for the best. This wasn’t real life. 

She let herself fall asleep in his arms, the thud of his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. It was safe and comfortable and a bittersweet end to what could only be considered a whirlwind romance. 

She couldn’t actually say goodbye, it was too painful. They would see each other again after award season, when they’d both had time to recover from all this. 

But for now, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips while the morning sun barely filled the sky. He was still sleeping soundly, peacefully unaware that she was a few steps from the door. 

Despite herself, she stole one of his flannels before she slipped out of the trailer, a memento of their time together. 

That’s all she had now, a wrinkled flannel that smelled like smoke and faded cologne—and a shattered heart. 

***

She was wearing the flannel when Oscar picks were announced, curled up on the end of Monty Green’s couch after he and Harper made them dinner. 

Russell had been right all along—it was a hit. 

_Nomination for Best Actor in a leading role: Bellamy Blake_

_Nomination for Best Actress in a leading role: Clarke Griffin_

_Nomination for Best Picture: Wildest Dreams_

It was a sweep—three nominations in three huge categories. 

Clarke and Harper screamed, almost knocking over their wine glasses with excitement. 

They were going to the Oscars. 

After all the failure, all the embarrassing reviews, and memes about her shitty art films, Clarke was nominated for an Oscar. 

The tears started before she could even process what was happening. 

She was so overwhelmingly happy—and the person she wanted to share it with, was someone she hadn’t spoken to in over seven months. 

Things were awkward between her and Bellamy. They hadn’t had the chance to really talk about what happened, and she couldn’t figure out where she stood. 

There wasn’t much time for a press junket, the buzz for the movie was enough to speak for itself. 

It all happened so fast, the turnaround, the box office success, the critical acclaim. 

In all truthfulness, she’d pushed her feelings down so deeply, there just hadn’t been time. 

But now, she was feeling them in full force. 

***

Her Oscars dress was a deep royal blue, elegant and tight with a long slit tracing up her leg. 

She went solo, much to the chagrin of her PR management. The thought of bringing a random piece of arm candy, even if it was just for photographs, made her stomach twist. 

The camera flashes were blinding, reporters asking her questions about anything and everything. 

“Can we get one of the two of you?” A reporter screamed, seconds before someone shoved Bellamy into her side. 

They posed together, trying to look as comfortable as possible as the questions continued to bombard them. 

His hand slipped to the small of her back, just as it had hundreds of times, guiding her down the carpet. 

Apparently, he’d come solo as well. 

There wasn’t time for them to talk, too many interviews about the movie, about their thoughts and interpretations of the characters. For a while, things almost felt normal, like their entire relationship hadn’t vanished in the span of a single night. 

But the second they entered the holding area, Bellamy drew away, disappearing in the crowd without a word. 

Even if she didn’t want it to, it hurt. 

She lingered for a while, hoping it wasn’t obvious that she was trying not to look like she was alone. 

It wasn’t that she was expecting things to go back to normal between her and Bellamy, but she hadn‘t been expecting him to be so cold. 

But she couldn’t let it bother her. Not tonight. 

This was about her career, about taking her agency back as an actor, about reestablishing herself as someone to be taken seriously. 

She could worry about her relationship with Bellamy after the awards. 

***

Wildest Dreams lost best picture, but Bellamy and Clarke both won in their respective categories. 

Russell was beaming from ear to ear during both of their speeches, preening from the acclaim this was going to bring his studio. 

It was a whirlwind after that, posing with their statues, interviews, and sound bites. 

The entire night whizzed by in a flurry of champagne and camera flashes. Clarke could barely catch her breath. She hadn’t eaten a single thing all night, it was exhilarating and exhausting, and she’d never been more proud of herself than she was at this moment. 

She had her career back—two-time Oscar-winning actress, Clarke Griffin. 

But the tug of emptiness pulled in her chest again when she caught sight of Bellamy across the after-party. 

If he saw her, he didn’t acknowledge her, but he looked just as exhausted as she was. 

She wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around his torso as lead him back home. 

But that wasn’t her place anymore. 

She’d occupied that space for such a short period of time, but she still longed for it. 

Downing another glass of champagne, she moved from group to group, chatting aimlessly about the movie and her plans for the winter holidays. Apparently, Aspen was the place to be this year. 

She zoned out of the conversation, catching another glimpse at Bellamy. 

He was talking in a corner with Wells Jaha, both of them laughing at something beyond her line of sight. He looked happy, cheeks flushed from champagne, hair mussed. 

This was his night, too, his redemption arc just as much as it was hers. 

Their eyes met from across the room, and she wanted to look away—but she couldn’t. 

He tilted his head, barely noticeable to someone who wasn’t looking before he whispered something to Wells and vanished around the corner. 

She followed, out onto a terrace, the fall breeze just cold enough to send a chill up her arms. 

”You were right, way back when, about having a good feeling about the movie,” she said, voice cutting through the silence as she came to stand beside him. “Congratulations, Oscar-winning actor Bellamy Blake.” 

He gave her a closed mouth smile, shrugging off his jacket to wrap around her shoulders. 

“You too, two-time Oscar-winning actress,” he replied, bumping their shoulders together. 

The conversation was stilted, awkward, oddly formal considering how close they’d been less than a year ago. 

It made something in her chest twist. 

Side by side, they watched the Los Angeles skyline, the buzz of the city below them. It was staggeringly different from their quiet nights in the desert, but there was still something nostalgic about it. 

“Why’d you leave without saying goodbye?” Bellamy asked voice dipping into something rougher, more familiar than the formal tone he’d been using all night. 

It immediately set her at ease, even if the words themselves were like a knife to the heart. 

She wrestled with it internally, debating whether it was time, to be honest, or whether she needed to protect her heart. 

In the end, the soft, searching look he gave her wore her down.

“It hurt too much.” 

It was all she could muster. She hoped it was enough that he would understand. 

“It didn’t have to be like this...” he said, voice so soft she could barely make out the words. 

“What other choice did we have? We agreed on casual...and that’s what we did.” 

“Are you seriously okay with this? With never seeing each other again? Did all of that mean nothing to you?” Bellamy asked, voice catching, his hand smacking against the railing in frustration. 

Clarke was confused. She didn’t know where this was going, what Bellamy was trying to say? 

He was the one who asked for all this, who freaked out when they got caught together. 

“It’s what you wanted. To keep it all a secret.” 

“Fuck. That’s never what I wanted.”

Bellamy scrubbed a hand over his face, he looked worn out, exhausted, like he didn’t know how to handle all this. 

“I said I couldn’t date a co-star, that I didn’t want to get on the bad side of another director...”

“Exactly. You didn’t want to be with me. You don’t get to make me feel like shit for something you did!” She said, trying to keep her voice down.

“The only thing I wanted was to be with you.” 

His voice cracked at the admission. It seemed like something he hadn’t meant to say out loud. 

Everything she’d told herself while filming, in the aftermath, it was all coming crashing down around her. 

Had they both been misunderstanding each other this whole time? Had her own bad experiences left her too jaded to see what was in front of her?

There were no words that could summarize how she felt about him, how she felt about all this, so she just leaned forward, catching his lips. 

She caught him off guard, but he adjusted quickly, reaching out to cup her waist. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she said, pulling away just enough to meet his gaze. 

“I’m sorry too...” he agreed, leaving one last soft kiss in the corner of her lips. 

***

The salty ocean breeze caught Clarke’s hair as she looked out onto the water. It was drizzling, the water dripping on the edges of the rose bushes, leaving little drops to fall from the petals. 

“So, what do you think?” Bellamy asked, coming up behind her, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

They stared out into the ocean, watching the ebb and flow of the water. It was so quintessentially them, standing together and staring off in the distance. 

The New England air was chilly, the sun hidden behind a throng of murky clouds, but the heart of it was the same as their nights in the desert. 

“It feels like home,” she said, turning to nudge her nose into his cheek, nuzzling him. 

She didn’t just mean the house—as much as she loved it. This was a kind of overwhelming joy she’d never felt before, the kind that was rooted in contentment. She'd found the love of her life, and they were going to make a family together.

Clarke’s acting career wasn’t over, neither was Bellamy’s, but this was a well-deserved break. She’d spent her whole life running, chasing a dream, looking for the next best thing. But for the first time, she was happy with where she was. 

In a sleepy old town in Maine, full of retirees who didn’t care who they were, Clarke and Bellamy found their home. A white beach house with wrap-around porches, a vast stretch of beach for their dogs to run, there was a Trader Joe’s for her to buy ice cream, roses bushes to tend to on the weekends and ample time to love one another. 

It was perfect, and it was theirs, and she never wanted to leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Sappy? Absolutely. But our girl Clarke chose the rose garden over Madison Square and can we really fault her for that one.  
> I hope y'all liked this cute little guy, it's a little outside my wheelhouse with the smut but I'm excited with how it turned out. I love a good Tswift vibe though. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, your thoughts mean the world to me! 
> 
> Much love as always <3


End file.
